Wreathed in Shadows
by Magus Maxime
Summary: The Wizarding World celebrates the downfall of Lord Voldemort, but while the Boy-Who-Lived lives a life of luxury and fame, his brother is being forged into a weapon the likes of which all should fear. What happens when the forgotten one returns? Super Powerful!Harry
1. Chapter 1

The cloaked figure moved in slow, measured strides along the street, towards a small, two-story cottage, which lay at the end of the road. Skeletal fingers loosely gripped a long, bone-white stick, as the hooded man (if he could still be called such a thing) gathered his thoughts. The windows of the house were open, and within, the figure could see an elderly couple holding a newborn boy. Had this pair been anyone else, the hooded figure would have laughed at the sheer arrogance. 'Did they think that a mere Fidelius could save them?' However, Charlus Potter was many things, but arrogant was most certainly not one of them. The cottage's wards hit the figure like a stone wall, instantly alerting the powerful witch and wizard within to the presence of the intruder. Said intruder's lip curled, as he watched, with grim satisfaction, as the elderly man's face twisted into a mask of surprise, and then stubborn determination. He watched as Charlus Potter swept from the room to confront the man who dared to trespass on his home. He watched as Dorea Potter carefully laid the child down and sealed the windows, 'Soon, little one, soon …'

The figure carefully lowered his hood to reveal a deathly pale skin, blue veins apparent along his neck, the snake-like slits that served as the figure's nose, and the vivid, scarlet eyes that caused all but the strongest of wizards to quake in abject terror. The door of the cottage disintegrated, and Lord Voldemort stepped through the now open doorway to confront the grim form of Charlus Potter.

"I knew you'd come … one day," the old man spoke with stoic calm and unnerving determination. He spoke like a man who knew death had come but was still willing to fight on. The Dark Lord smirked; he expected nothing less.

"Tell me, old friend, do you think that you can stop me from walking up those stairs, and ending your legacy?"

The man chuckled, "No Tom, it is not my destiny to stop you. I often wondered what happened to the proud, lonely boy that had lived his whole life without love. I thought that perhaps he would find people who would accept him for who he was, who would dissuade him from seeking to exact vengeance on all those who wronged him," Charlus bore a sad smile, "It does not matter anymore. I will die, knowing that someday, you will fall, just as Grindelwald did. I will die, knowing that it will be my grandson that does the deed."

Lord Voldemort's visage contorted into one of impotent rage, "You put too much faith in prophecies."

"Actually no … I merely have faith in my family, something that you, _My Lord_, will never have," and with these final words, Charlus Potter conjured a golden lion which leaped at Voldemort, and the battle was on …

There were no words spoken as the powerful sorcerers did battle. Everything left to be said had been concluded, and the Dark Lord's customary smirk had vanished. He was taking this duel very, very seriously. This was, after all, a man who had faced Gellert Grindelwald and lived to tell the tale. Voldemort quickly vanished the lion and responded with a volley of lethal spells, any one of which could take Charlus's life. Not one touched him. The Lord of House Potter ducked and dodged each curse and responded in kind. Each of the combatants chained spells as fast as they could, for they knew that this duel would decide history. The Dark Lord conjured a massive serpent of flame and commanded it to attack Charlus's flank, at the same time, launching a cutting curse which severed the man's wand arm. Every bit the pureblood lord, Charlus refused to bow or admit defeat, and this face of utter determination was frozen in place when Lord Voldemort quickly ended the man's life. For once, he took no joy in his kill. Charlus Potter had earned Lord Voldemort's respect, and even in death, he merited recognition. The Dark Lord swiftly ascended the stairs and made his way to the nursery. Dorea Potter née Black stood with her back to the cradle, her wand gripped tightly in her hand.

"My lady, why must you fight? You must know that nothing will stop me from doing what I came here to do."

Dorea stood proudly, "I would defy magic itself if it meant protecting my family."

The Dark Lord smiled at that, "How … Gryffindorish. You do not beg me to spare your spawn?"

"Black women do not beg. I will not yield, Death Coward. If you want to get to them, you'll have to kill me."

"Then I'm afraid, my dear, you too must die. _Avada Kedavra_," Dorea Potter closed her eyes as the flash of green light ended her life, and she crumpled to the floor. Lord Voldemort stepped around the corpse to face his would-be rival. He was greeted by the sight of two one-year-old boys seated in the cradle. One was bawling endlessly, he was instantly dismissed, but the other … now that one drew his attention. The oldest Potter heir was gazing at him through unnerving, Killing-Curse green eyes. The boy was perfectly calm and he bore a collected, almost calculating expression on his underdeveloped features, an expression that should not be present on any child of his age. But more than this, he felt the boy's magic, like a star gone nova. The child had power, pure, unadulterated magic, far greater than even he could ever possess. Yes … this would be the one. "I'm sorry, little one. But I'm afraid I cannot allow you to grow up. Shame, what an apprentice you would have made, Harry Potter, what an adversary." As he prepared to cast the final blow, a wave of magic rippled from the boy and pushing the Dark Lord backward and causing a light fixture above the cradle to break, raining glass on the three. Both Voldemort and Harry remained unscathed, while the second boy, Liam, bore a lightning bolt-shaped scar across his brow. Unwilling to take any further risk, the Dark Lord pointed his wand at the infant and cast the Killing Curse, "_AVADA KEDAVRA!_" The curse arched towards its intended victim, but to his shock, the bolt of green lightning rebounded off the boy and struck its caster. With an earth-shattering scream, the body of Lord Voldemort crumbled into ash, and a black cloak dropped to the floor. Harry Potter collapsed to the floor of the cradle, exhausted.

Minutes passed and footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs. A young man, in his early twenties, a nest of unruly black hair, and bright, hazel eyes, surveyed the scene before him. James Potter had been devastated when he had seen his father's lifeless corpse, but now he was forced to look upon that of his mother as well. He knelt beside her and broke down, his wife, Lily, coming to kneel beside him and offering him support. The third member of the group, however, strode over to where the twins lay in their cradle. He was tall and thin, with long, silver hair and beard, a crooked nose, and blue eyes, that seemed to be able to pierce into a being's very soul. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, gazed down at the Potter children. Liam sat in the cradle, almost on top of his seemingly sleeping brother, crying. Everything fell into place in the Headmaster's mind when he noticed the black cloak lying nearby and the lightning-bolt scar on the child's forehead. "The prophecy has come to pass," he announced to the still-grieving parents of the 'Chosen One,' "young Liam is the one destined to defeat Lord Voldemort." Dumbledore's brilliant mind was turning at lightning-speed, 'The boy would need to be protected … blood wards, perhaps.' Dumbledore knew that they could protect the whole family, but they had to be tied to a being who shares the blood of those protected. Charlus and Dorea were out of the question now, and all of the Potters were dead. Then his mind wandered back to Lily's family … her parents were dead, but her sister … Petunia, he thought her name was. Yes, that could work, but who to send to them? From what Lily had told him, Albus knew that neither Lily nor James would be welcome within her home, but a child? What heartless beings could resist a child, especially one of their own blood? Liam could not be sent to live with Muggles, he simply had to be trained. Then the old man's eyes fell on the sleeping form of an infant. 'I'm sorry, my dear Harry. I hope that one day, you'll find it in your heart to forgive me.' He carefully picked up Harry Potter and explained to Lily and James what had to be done.


	2. Chapter 2

The suburban street of Privet Drive was the epitome of normalcy. The houses were nice and symmetrical, and the people … even more so. Nothing ever seemed to happen at Privet Drive and everything was nice and **normal**, and it instantly set James on edge. "This place is freaking me out," James Potter whispered to his wife, as they walked down Privet Drive to the address that Albus Dumbledore had given them. It had been ten, glorious years since the fall of Lord Voldemort, and they had to admit, being the parents of the Boy-Who-Lived had its perks. But now, the pair prepared for what would most likely be the most difficult thing either of them had ever had to do: reconnecting with their long-lost son. While Albus had certainly never forbidden them from visiting the child, somehow they had simply never gotten around to doing so. Now, however, that decision might very well come back to bite them. 'What if Harry was angry with them for leaving him? What if he became jealous of Liam's fame?' All of these questions were circling within the Potters' heads as they approached the door of Number 4 Privet Drive. The red-haired witch took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

The woman who answered was short and squat, with long black hair and brown eyes, and she was assuredly NOT Petunia Dursley. "Yes? Can I help you?" the woman spoke in a calm, curious tone.

"Yes, is this the Dursley residence?" Lily asked. She was very, very confused. Not only was this the address that Albus had given them, but she had also visited many times before the children were born.

"Who? Oh, you mean the previous owners. Maybe you didn't hear, but … they died."

"What!" Lily's eyes widened in shock. Her sister couldn't be dead! That wasn't possible. 'Albus would have known … would have told me.'

"Yes, almost seven years ago in fact…"

"How could you let this happen?" It is safe to say, that there were very few things in the world that could make Albus Dumbledore, the Defeater of Grindelwald, truly angry. This was most certainly one of them. Albus stood at his full height. His eyes had lost their usual twinkle and now stared coldly at James and Lily Potter. When the Potters had informed him of what had happened, he had rushed to Privet Drive. How was this possible? The blood wards had remained active for ten years, and they would only do so if one of those protected called the dwelling of a blood relative home. If said blood relative were dead, surely he would have known. Upon meeting the Potters in the entrance of Number 4, he had quickly immobilized the Muggles and begun his examination of the house. It took some time but he finally managed to locate and break through the wards that had concealed the shoe cupboard under the stairs. Within he had found four totems, placed within a circle of blood. Each of the totems perfectly replicated the magical signatures of four individuals: Vernon Dursley, Petunia Dursley, Dudley Dursley, and sure enough, Hadrian James Potter. Someone had known about the blood wards. Someone had engineered this in such a way that Dumbledore would not be notified of Harry Potter's disappearance. That excuse did not, however, apply to the boy's parents.

"Us?! Headmaster, it was your idea to have Harry placed here in the first place, for his own protection!" At James's words, the temperature of the room seemed to plummet, and the most powerful sorcerer in the world fixed a steely glare at the Potter male, a glare that would have made any lesser being quake in terror.

"That is not what I said at all. I said that the blood wards that I tethered to Harry and Lily's sister would protect all four of you. I not ONCE considered that you would cease all contact with the boy. The minute Petunia died, the wards would have gone down. That means that the totems have been in place for at least that long, and that is how long Harry Potter has been missing from this home. Had you ever bothered to check up on your oldest son, you would have realized earlier that he was gone." Dumbledore almost spat out these last words. What kind of heartless beings would abandon their child so? He understood the need for Harry to live with the Dursleys, it had been his idea after all. However, how on Earth did Lily and James think themselves justified in simply severing ties to their son? Regardless, there were more important things now. Only a handful of wizards could have pulled off such a complex blood ritual. And when one took into consideration who the boy in question was (or rather, who his brother was), only one name came to Dumbledore's mind.

"Albus's right James. We should have come to him. What can we do now Headmaster?"

"Hope, Lady Potter, hope," Albus Dumbledore stood up and walked to the door of the house when he was stopped by Lily's next question.

"Hope for what, Headmaster?"

"Hope that your son is still alive. There are only a handful of wizards who could have performed the kind of magic you just saw. In fact, only 2 currently alive besides myself. One of whom … is Lord Voldemort. So yes, Lily, hope that your son is still alive, and hope that he has not been turned into a monster." With that, Albus Dumbledore apparated away. Still pondering the Headmaster's words, Lily and James swiftly unfroze the Muggles and followed suit.

None of them had noticed the shadow watching them from across the street. Its glowing green eye tracking their every move. The shadow had felt when the wards it had placed in 4 Privet Drive had been broken. It simply had to see who had finally come looking for Harry Potter. Imagine the shadow's surprise when he realized that it was none other than the Chief Warlock himself. Followed shortly after by … them. The shadow knew of them, and it loathed them. But in some ways, the shadow knew, it owed them. Without James and Lily Potter, it would have never become what it was today. Satisfied with what it had seen, the shadow lowered the black hood concealing its face and walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

The arrival of the Boy-Who-Lived and his family at King's Cross Station had attracted a large throng of people, be it the media or mere fans. The reason for this large crowd: 'The Savior was finally going to Hogwarts." From its compartment on the massive red train, the shadow watched the Potters, an expression of utmost disdain on its regal features. Flashes of memories rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind. _Fire… the screams of a woman and a child as they died … the body of an extremely fat, middle-aged man, his neck broken. The curled up form of a four-year-old boy, his face impassive as he watched the house burn._ The shadow quickly suppressed these thoughts. Much had changed since then …

Saying goodbye to his parents, Liam Potter swaggered over his friends, Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas. He had just met the latter 3 days ago in Diagon, and he already had him wrapped around his finger. "Come on. Let's find a compartment." As it happened, during the time the Boy-Who-Lived had taken to pose for pictures and sign autographs, almost everyone had already boarded the train and filled the nearest compartments. They walked down the passage until they happened on one that only had one occupant. The boy inside was tall, with tanned skin and nigh-angelic features. His raven hair was tousled and his green eyes were fixed on the book that he had in his hands. What put a smile on Liam's face was the boy's Muggle attire. He wore jeans, black tactical boots, a white t-shirt, and a black bomber jacket that highlighted his muscled frame. Obviously, this one was a Muggle-born. No offense to his mother or Dean, but Liam knew that Muggle-borns were usually very easy to intimidate, due to being overwhelmed by an entirely new world. A large smirk formed on his face. He turned to his friends and said, "This one."

The door of the compartment burst open, snapping the shadow out of its reverie. Framed in the doorway were four eleven-year-old males. The first one, a relatively tall boy with fiery red hair and freckles. He had rather nondescript blue eyes and wore an almost vacant expression. The second, obviously the leader of the group was a rather short, chubby specimen with his father's hazel eyes and his mother's auburn hair. He wore large, circular glasses, and held himself with an aura of self-importance and arrogance. The other two the shadow did not even spare a second glance. They were mere insects, caught in the web of Liam Potter's fame. "We're taking this compartment. You can leave now," the Weasley child sneered. In response, the shadow merely returned its gaze to the book lying on its lap. A small smirk graced the shadow's lips as the redhead's ears slowly tinged red. "Oi, I was talking to you!"

The shadow looked at him, its glowing, emerald eyes narrowing in annoyance, "Ronald Weasley, is it?" The obnoxious boy's sneer widened into a smirk at the recognition, "The useless son who was always dwarfed by his siblings. The idiot who served absolute squat until some fat, ignoramus decided to take pity on you. As I hope you can see, considering the magnifying glasses stuck to that one's face, I have no time to deal with simpletons," the shadow gave the group a small, condescending smile. Weak minds … so easy to penetrate.

"How dare you?! You filthy little brat. Don't you know who I am?" Liam Potter was shouting now, his face getting redder and redder. The shadow had to actively deflect the large globules of spit unleashed by the buffoon.

Without even looking up at him, the shadow replied, "You're a fraud who revels in taking credit for an event that occurred when you were barely capable of autonomous movement, let alone accidental magic."

"I AM THE BOY-WHO-LIVED! IF NOT FOR ME, YOU-KNOW-WHO WOULD STILL BE ALIVE. I am also the Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter! I am YOUR SUPERIOR!" The lump was losing all semblance of self-control. The shadow noted that the boy took particular offense whenever his precious Gryffindor honor was challenged.

"You can't even say his name. In any case, there are only two ways that a being can survive the Killing Curse: one is the _Anima Clypeus_ spell, a protection spell so powerful that it has only ever been cast on 4 occasions throughout history, by the most experienced and knowledgeable of wizards. It is completely ludicrous to imagine that an infant can pull off a feat of magic that even Dumbledore cannot fully accomplish. And the other … the other has absolutely nothing to do with anything you did or did not do. So, in conclusion, you are either a liar or an idiot."

"WHY YOU LITTLE - " The would-be Savior charged forward to attack the boy who dared insult him, only to be sent flying from the compartment by a wandless banishing charm. The three stooges soon followed, hurling headfirst into the hallway beyond. With just a flick of its wrist, the shadow slammed the door shut and locked it.

"Shame, I was expecting more of a challenge," the shadow said to the black bird that had concealed itself when he had boarded the train. His familiar flew onto his leg and fixed him with a curious expression, "Don't look at me like that. I couldn't resist taking him down a notch. Besides, more is yet to come." He stroked the phoenix's feathers and opened the window. Grateful for the chance to stretch her wings, Nyx jumped off her master's leg and soared out into the late afternoon sky.

ーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーー

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry loomed above them, and the shadow had to admit, he certainly was not disappointed. The school radiated power; he could feel it like a tsunami, washing over him. The shadow exited his meditation trance and opened his eyes. Defty, he donned the flowing, black, dragon-hide cloak over his Hogwarts robes, and vanished from the compartment.

'Where is he?!' The Boy-Who-Lived's gaze swept over the assembled mob of first years, searching for one in particular. How dare that filthy brat disrespect him? If it weren't for him, You-Know-Who would still be out there. A muggle-born especially should have been groveling at his feet. In his mounting rage, the words the odd boy had said completely faded from Liam's mind. He was going to find that Mudblood, and make his life hell!

"Firs' years follow me!" A mountain of a man was calling them. Rubeus Hagrid. Liam had never liked the half-giant, and vice versa. He found the oaf to be an uncivilized, unintelligible, simpleton. Furthermore, Hagrid's love of measly animals never ceased to disgust him. Followed by his gang of sidekicks, Liam strode over to the shore of the lake. Ungrateful whelp aside, he was definitely looking forward to this year. Both of his parents worked at Hogwarts, with his dad teaching the new Duelling class, while his mother worked as Professor Flitwick's assistant, while she gained her Charms Mastery. Dumbledore had never seemed to like him though, which, to Liam's small point of view, seemed completely incorrect. Shouldn't the 'Leader of the Light' train and dote on the boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Lost in his thoughts, he didn't realize the boat had started its journey to the castle and was subsequently hit in the face by the stone cliff.

When the first years reached the doors of Hogwarts, a tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes awaited them. "The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid. Minerva McGonagall, ICW certified Mistress of Transfiguration, and Professor of the subject. James had told Liam many stories of his detentions with this witch, and though she had favored his father, Liam knew that this was not someone to cross.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." The stern witch led the assembled first-years through the gates and into the entrance hall. "Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is very important … " Liam scoffed internally; he knew all of this already. Tuning her out, he resumed his search for the unfortunate Muggle-born who didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. Once again, his efforts ended in failure. Returning to face the Professor, he realized that she had completed her speech and had left.

"So, Liam Potter is finally attending Hogwarts," Liam turned to find a tall boy with platinum-blonde hair. He scowled at Draco Malfoy's smirk of contempt.

"What's it to you, Death Eater scum?" He almost growled these words.

Malfoy's ears grew red, yet he spoke with a menacing, quiet voice, "That's quite the accusation, Potter. Got any proof?"

Liam smirked, "Don't need any. Everyone knows that the Malfoys are a family of murdering, evil Dark wizards. Besides, I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. My word IS proof."

Before Malfoy could retort, McGonagall returned, "Move along now. The Sorting Ceremony is about to start. Follow me." The line of eleven-year-olds filed into the massive hall. Liam pushed all thoughts of the Malfoy brat from his mind and waved at his parents. As he strode through the Great Hall, whispers broke out, "Its Liam Potter … the Boy-Who-Lived … I wonder if he remembers what You-Know-Who looked like."

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History," Liam heard a bushy-haired girl say. 'Ugh, know-it-all,' he thought.

The line of first-years stopped, and McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth - and the hat began to sing: "Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, But don't judge on what you see, I'll eat myself if you can find A smarter hat than me. You can keep your bowlers black, Your top hats sleek and tall, For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat And I can cap them all. There's nothing hidden in your head The Sorting Hat can't see, So try me on and I will tell you Where you ought to be. You might belong in Gryffindor, Where dwell the brave at heart, Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart; 94 You might belong in Hufflepuff, Where they are just and loyal, Those patient Hufflepuffis are true And unafraid of toil; Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind, Where those of wit and learning, Will always find their kind; Or perhaps in Slytherin You'll make your real friends, Those cunning folk use any means To achieve their ends. So put me on! Don't be afraid! And don't get in a flap! You're in safe hands (though I have none) For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

Soon after, a loud, "HUFFLEPUFF!" sounded from the Sorting Hat. Minutes ticked by, as first-year after first-year was called up and sorted into their houses. When his name was called, Draco Malfoy swaggered up to the stool and fixed Liam with a condescending smirk. The hat barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!" A loud cheer rang from the Slytherin table. There weren't many people left now. "Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson" then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil" then "Perks, Sally-Anne." Liam knew that he was next, he was confident that he would get Gryffindor, like his father. He held his breath, eagerly awaiting the whispers that would fill the hall.

"H-H-Harry Potter?" Shock was clearly plastered across McGonagall's face, soon followed by those of Dumbledore and his parents. But no one's shock compared to that of Liam Potter, but before his shock could boil over into rage, every brazier and candle in the hall suddenly went out. A loud boom was heard, as the doors of the Great Hall swung open, to reveal a figure cloaked in black. Its glowing, green eyes staring out from the shadows of its hood.

**A/N: Some quotes are directly taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J. K. Rowling**


	4. Chapter 4

_"H-H-Harry Potter?"_

The shadow's long, flowing robes swirled around him as he took long, purposeful strides across the length of the Great Hall. He could feel the surprise emanating from Dumbledore and … them. He could taste it. From the students, he felt the lingering curiosity from the name, but more than anything else, there was one overwhelming stench in the air: fear. Fear at who exactly this mysterious cloaked figure was. Fear, at his obvious power. The shadow smirked; fear was good. Curiosity is fleeting, even admiration is easily forgotten, but fear … fear leaves a lasting imprint on the mind.

With a silent nod to the Headmaster, he lowered the cowl of his robe and silently sat down, allowing McGonagall to place the tattered, old hat on his head. **"Master,"** the voice of the Sorting Hat grumbled in his mind.

**"I have no desire to enter into a conversation with you, Entity. Place me where you deem fit and we can all be on our merry way. I have no preference."**

**"As you wish, my Lord. Yes, the answer is very clear. You possess qualities of all the houses, tremendous bravery, loyalty to those loyal to you, an unparalleled intellect, but most of all, I see your ruthless ambition, your desire for greatness. Yes … you, Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Gryffindor, shall be in …** SLYTHERIN!"

The announcement was met with sheer, overwhelming silence. When McGonagall removed the Hat, the shadow turned around and strode towards the High Table. "Grand Sorcerer," he inclined his head in respect.

"It is good to see you again, Harry," Dumbledore spoke in a soft, measured voice.

The shadow waved his hand, and the torches and candles reignited, startling many. "I must apologize for my tardiness, Dumbledore. Theatrics aren't usually my style."

"All is forgiven, of course. However, I must admit some curiosity, for lack of a better word. When I found the blood totems in Privet Drive, I was concerned that you had been harmed …"

The shadow held up a hand to stop him, "I trust I will be seeing you in your office then, to explain." At the same time, the shadow opened his mind to Dumbledore, not revealing very much, but just enough to assure him that he bore no malicious intentions (which was indeed true, for the most part).

Satisfied with what was shown to him, Dumbledore nodded, and his customary twinkle, which had been missing since the shadow's arrival, returned. "If you will, Harry."

The shadow nodded, and his glowing eyes began to survey the hall before him. The reactions of the staff were as he expected, among the most worthy of note being Severus Snape's look of utmost hatred. If looks could kill, the shadow was confident that the man's glower would give even him a challenge. However, it was not this that drew his attention, nor the distrustful yet curious stares he was receiving from the Potters, but a curious expression worn on the face of a rather unimpressive man. He was of medium height and wore a purple turban on his head. His face was twisted in a mask of wariness, rather than outright distrust or fear, yet something more: intrigue. The shadow had intrigued this man. Yet this was not what drew the shadow's focus to this, otherwise insignificant, man. It was his aura, or rather auras. The man had a second aura around him, yet not one made by a living being. A leech. A parasite, perhaps. A small glint of red flickered across the man's irises. The parasite was watching him. Slowly turning his face from the anomaly, so Dumbledore would not notice his staring, the shadow was about to exit when something caught his eye. 'No, impossible. Dumbledore would not be so foolish as to keep it on his person.'

The shadow turned back to face the Headmaster, his eyes locked on a thin, wooden object resting between the old man's fingers. Intricate designs, like elder-berries, were woven across the wand's surface, and small knots ran across its length at intervals. He knew this object, and he hated it.

_(Flashback)_

_The ever-present, dull stone walls loomed, casting the two figures in the small cell into sharp relief. The first, a young boy, tall for his age, and well-muscled. No one looking at him would ever assume that he was merely 10 years old. His customary black cloak shrouded his form. The shadow stood, looking down at the second figure, knelt in meditation. He was frail, and emaciated, with a skull-like face, and great sunken eyes. His once platinum blond hair had faded to a snow-white, yet his face lacked most of the wrinkles that characterized those of his age. This was but the first indication of the power this man possessed, another was that not even a single speck of filth or vermin dared to come within a 10-foot radius of him. "Did they come?" the white-haired man spoke, his strong voice belied his physical frailty._

_"Yes, my Master," the shadow bowed his head, "I watched them leave the house. Their reaction was rather lacking, as expected." The shadow tried and failed to keep the bitterness out of his voice._

_The other laughed, "As powerful as you are, my apprentice, there is still much for you to learn. Your fatal flaw is holding grudges. It is up to you whether or not it will be your undoing. However, that does not change the fact that you have learned all that I have to teach you." With these words, the man opened his eyes. One was a brilliant, sky blue, the other a dark brown. He raised his palms towards the ceiling and said, "By the sacred oaths that stay my hand, and bind my word, I declare thee, Hadrian James Potter, a true Master of the Dark Arts. My equal, in every way." A stream of golden lights flickered into existence around the man's outstretched palms, like a swarm of fireflies drawn to a bait._

_The shadow watched in wonder as the stream of golden lights left his Master's palms and reached out to wrap themselves around his right wrist. The shadow cried out in pain, as the golden lights sank into his skin, releasing a blinding flash. When it vanished, the shadow gazed at the result. "Tattooed" onto the inside of his wrist was a black symbol:_ ᛦ_, the rune of Death, the emblem of the Masters of the Dark Arts. His former Master smiled, "You have accomplished so much, for one so young, and I know that you will far in a way surpass anything I could have ever done."_

_"I am honored, and I thank you for all you have done," the shadow bowed to his Master, for the last time._

_"Allow me to leave you with this final gift. My very last secret. I know your hatred of it, yet you must know, for it will call to you," the shadow suppressed a grimace. He knew of what the other man spoke, "The Elder Wand rests in Britain. Deep in the heart of Hogwarts School. Dumbledore."_

Fingers obstructed the wand from his view, for Dumbledore had indeed noticed his staring. The shadow fixed the Headmaster with a curious, yet wary, expression, "It does appear we have much to discuss, Headmaster." Wings of black flame burst in being behind the shadow, as a phoenix, as dark as the night flamed into the hall. The creature enveloped the shadow in an aura of ebony fire, and both she and her master vanished from the hall.


	5. Chapter 5

_Darkness … the emptiness of the void … They say that the dementors are born of it, that they understand it better than any mortal being can. They say that the darkness is evil, a virus that needs to be cut out, a disease to be cleansed of. They are wrong. The darkness is necessary, for it holds a much greater evil at bay. All those who have touched the darkness, who have allowed it to reach back into their very soul, are sentenced to a fate far worse than anything that can possibly be imagined. They do not find peace. There is no moving on for them. They are cast out, to place - a very dark place - in the infinite nothingness beyond this or any world. What awaits them there are creatures more evil and more twisted than even the abyss itself. The darkness is their prison, the place where millennia of isolation slowly turned them mad. _

_Every time a being succumbs to the allure of the darkness, the demons of Chaos reach out, forever yearning to escape their prison. In drawing magic from the prison, Dark witches and wizards weaken the chains that hold the destroyers at bay. And when they die, that gap that they opened, that break in the chain, sucks their soul out to where the demons dwell. If they knew the true price, what awaits them beyond the Veil, they would never have done what they had; never would have sacrificed so much. But how could they have known? Unless they had died before … _

The door of the large room opened, and Albus Dumbledore entered the office, followed by an amusingly large retinue of people, that included: a still flustered Minerva McGonagall, a grumbling Severus Snape, and James and Lily Potter, followed by their glowering and hate-filled younger son. Concealed by his cloaking spell, the shadow watched as the Headmaster and his entourage seat themselves around and behind the enormous, claw-footed desk, seemingly waiting.

The office of the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. The Sorting Hat, having finished its task merely an hour prior, was sitting on a shelf behind the old man's vacant desk. Two majestic birds were deeply engrossed in an animated conversation of trills, the first, larger than its counterpart, with bright red and gold plumage, and the second, black as the night.

What drew the shadow's attention most was the old man's extensive private library: row upon row of tomes and manuscripts, all of which dealt with the most complex and dangerous branches of magic. He ran his hand lovingly across the books. "It is said that a room without books is like a body without a soul," the shadow dropped his spell, allowing his presence to spill into the room. He relished the jolt of surprise and shock that his statement elicited from the assembled. The shadow dematerialized into a flock of ravens and reappeared in a seat before the massive desk, "Cicero, I believe."

"I never had an opportunity to examine his work firsthand, though from what some of my colleagues have uncovered from their research, he was a truly brilliant wizard during his time," Dumbledore smiled - an awkward smile as if the man was desperately trying to spark a conversation.

The shadow truly had no idea why he was trying so hard. He spoke in a bored tone, "If you could hurry things along, Dumbledore. I'm a very busy person, and I truly have countless other things I'd rather be doing. So, if you could say whatever it is you wanted to say - this century, perhaps."

James Potter's face grew red, "How dare you-"

"Oh, do shut up, man" the shadow turned to Lily, who had opened her mouth to speak, "Got anything to add?" Before she could respond, "No? Good. Let the adults speak."

Like father, like imbecile, Liam Potter's face transformed into a tomato, "WHY YOU UNGRATEFUL, LITTLE -" Any other words were cut off by a resounding death rattle that issued from the boy's mouth. He raised his hands to his neck, clutching uselessly at the invisible hand that had seized his trachea. Silent screams were etched across his face, but not a single sound came out.

The Potters jumped to their feet, calling the boy's name and trying in vain to aid him. The remaining adults looked on helplessly, as the Boy-Who-Lived's feet slowly left the ground and an invisible vice constricted around his entire body, nearly crushing him into a pulp. The shadow smiled a false, mocking smile, "What is it with you, Potters? Not knowing when and when not to open your mouths." James and Lily turned to fix their firstborn with expressions of disgust, hatred, and looming horror. Their favored spawn tried to speak, tried to curse his twin with what little oxygen he had left. In response the shadow pointed his wand at the oaf, "That's enough of you." An invisible shockwave hit the would-be Savior straight in the chest, sending him hurtling towards the far wall, where he crumpled into a heap on the floor.

The shadow turned his head, to find the Elder Wand inches from his face. Albus Dumbledore was standing, his arm outstretched. On his face, he wore an expression of grim determination, "Enough, Harry. I cannot allow you to harm any of my students."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Headmaster," he placed his wand on the desk. Temporarily satisfied, Dumbledore too lowered his wand, "Why do you keep that disgusting thing? Surely you know what it is, what it has done?"

The old man's looked down on the object in question, his brows furrowed, as long-buried memories forced their way to the surface, "Sentimental value, I would assume. Perhaps I believe that its power can finally be used for good." Upon seeing the look of utter confusion and revulsion on the shadow's face, he smiled, "Or perhaps I am simply an old man, too foolish to learn from my mistakes."

"Whatever you tell yourself at night, Dumbledore," the shadow rose from his seat, his cloak flowing out around him, "Well, it's been a very long evening. I believe I should retire."

"Of course, of course. I'll have Professor Snape take you to your dor-"

"No need, Dumbledore. I'm sure Professor Snape has many more productive tasks that require his attention," out of the corner of his eye, he saw Severus Snape twitch, "I'm sure I'll find my way." Nyx's cry resounded through the office, as the magnificent avian launched from the perch and soared to her master's shoulder. "I hope you enjoy the evening, Potters. I know I will," with one last terrifying smile, the shadow vanished from view.

* * *

"He needs to be dealt with," James Potter was snarling. That insolent upstart had dared to harm _his son_, the Boy-Who-Lived. _How dare he?! _

"James -" Dumbledore attempted to placate the man, but the elder Potter simply wouldn't have it.

"No, Albus. He nearly killed Liam, his own brother. Who knows who else he might nearly strangle to death? That boy is dangerous!"

"That boy, as you so eloquently put it, is your son. A son that you have not seen or heard from in a decade," the elder man was losing patience now. The number of things that could irritate Albus Dumbledore could be counted on the fingers of one hand, and a fully grown wizard acting like an immature second-year was evidently one of them.

After Hadrian's exit, Lily had taken her younger son to the Hospital Wing, ostensibly to check for any "dark curses" the boy's brother may have placed. '_Ha!, _Dumbledore laughed inwardly, '_What life-threatening curses could an eleven-year-old possibly know?'_ Sure, the boy had tremendous magical potential. Even a half-blind, half-dead troll could see that much. But seriously? So he can perform an overpowered levitation charm and has befriended a phoenix, that hardly makes him a Dark Lord, '_The Potters probably despise him from drawing all of the attention from their precious boy.' _

Dumbledore was not at all pleased with how the Boy-Who-Lived had turned out. He knew it when the boy was five, he knew it now: Liam Potter was simply not capable of defeating Voldemort, should he ever return. Not only had he never been trained, not that Dumbledore hadn't tried, but his personality and relationships with his peers were simply … unsatisfactory. All in all, this evening was turning from mildly annoying to draining.

"What are we to do, Albus?" Minerva McGonagall finally spoke. The night's excitement had clearly taken their toll on the aging witch, "The boy is obviously quite powerful and has a proclivity for violence. Not an ideal combination in any regard."

"I agree, Professor McGonagall," the headmaster looked every bit his century and a half of life, "Harry Potter is an unknown entity. I believe that we should wait to see how events unfold. There is indeed a great evil on the horizon, but I do not believe that this boy is its harbinger."


End file.
